


What I Lost In You

by lhknox



Series: I Will Remember Your Light [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: But also, Drama, F/F, Loss, Love, Medical Inaccuracies, Romance, Sadness, but also manages to love lexa a whole lot before she does, costia dies, happiness, sad but then happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 00:14:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8555197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lhknox/pseuds/lhknox
Summary: "You stand in an empty apartment, and you know exactly where the TV’s going to go, where the light will hit the couch of a morning. You see Costia cooking breakfast and you can almost smell the coffee brewing. You see late nights by Costia’s side, and early mornings where you make sure to kiss her before you rush out the door. You see a life you’re desperate to begin, one that is right in front of you for the taking."or,how Lexa loves Costia for most of her life, how she manages to live without her, and how she pieces herself back together once again. A prequel of sorts to If Love Were Enough, though can probably be read independently.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how this got to be so long but I apologise. 
> 
> Once again, any medical things are most definitely wrong because I am not a doctor, nor will I ever be.
> 
> Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

You’re twelve years old when you first meet her.

 

You’re awkward and tall and you trip over your own feet constantly. You see her at the back of the classroom, all dark skin and curly brown hair. She has dimples in her cheeks even though she’s not smiling, and for a second there, you forget how to breathe. 

There’s a princess sitting in the back of the classroom and nobody else seems to care.

You take your seat next to Lincoln Greene and you spend every minute until lunch thinking of how you should introduce yourself to the girl with the curly hair.

 

You’re twelve years old, all limbs and no grace when you spot her on the playground at lunch. She’s alone on a bench, reading what you think might be a Judy Blume book, and you hesitate because you know if it were you reading Judy Blume alone on a bench, you wouldn’t want a stranger interrupting you. So instead, you sit on a bench across the playground and you try to read her expressions from afar. You wonder if she likes the book, if she’s read any others. You’re twelve years old and you decide she is infinitely more interesting than a book could ever be.

 

It takes three more days before you speak to her, or rather, for her to speak to you. You spend recess and lunch observing from across the yard, and the classes in between thinking of all the conversations you’ll have with her one day, when you’re brave enough. And then, on that third lunch you look for her from your usual bench, only she’s nowhere to be found. You don’t notice the small, dark figure approach you from behind.

“Hi.”

You jump in your seat and whirl around, your heart racing a mile a minute. She stands there, all of her curly haired perfection and she waits for you to say something back. It takes a few moments for you to find your voice.

“Hey,” you finally manage.

“You watch me. From the other side of the playground. You watch me read.” It’s not a question. It’s not accusatory. It’s simply a fact. You nod.

“Yeah.”

Her eyebrows crinkle slightly and she watches you with sharp, hazel eyes. You try your hardest to maintain eye contact, but you struggle. Her eyes remind you of honey, light in colour and yet dense and heavy. You have the feeling that maybe she can read your mind, and that terrifies you. If she could read your mind she’d see how much you think about her. She’d hear the imagined discussions and her dimpled smile imprinted in your brain.

“I’m sorry for staring,” you finally say, and the crease between her eyebrows disappears.

“It’s okay,” she replies, and then she sticks out her hand. “I’m Costia,” she says, and you smile because the introduction is so formal and you know that your Dad would love her.

“Lexa,” you introduce yourself, shaking her hand. 

Her skin is soft and her smile is wide, and you may be twelve years old, but you think that maybe you’ve just uncovered the secrets of the universe. You think they may lie in Costia’s smile.

 

///

 

You’re fourteen years old when Costia kisses you for the first time. You’re fourteen and your hair is wild and your eyes are bright as she presses her lips to yours. She tastes like Coca Cola lipgloss and chlorine, and you feel her hands shaking in yours and you think, dear god girls are wonderful.

Because you’re fourteen when your friend kisses you by the pool in the backyard. And then she smiles at you timidly and jumps into the water, the summer heat too much to handle. You wonder if you can live in a single moment, if there’s a way to stop time so you can spend eternity in this one spot -- next to a swimming pool, with Costia splashing you, tasting the chlorine and cola on your lips and feeling all the excitement in the world.

 

You’re fourteen years old when you knock softly on Anya’s door. She’s five years older than you are, and she’s back from college for the summer. You’ve missed having her in your day-to-day life. You email back and forth every so often, and she was home for winter break, but it’s different. Now she’s home for, like, three months, and it feels as though she’d never left in the first place. You’re fourteen and you hear her call ‘come in!’. 

Her room is bright and large, and Anya sits on her bed reading The Chosen. It’s one of your favourites, a book about two young religious Jews not so different from yourself and suddenly you feel your eyes water and you try to stifle a sob, because goddamnit, you just don’t know what the next few minutes will bring. Anya’s head snaps up and you barely register the shock on her face.

“What’s wrong?” 

She shuts her book, and puts it aside, stretching out her arms to you. You fall into her embrace, freely crying. You were going to stay strong and upright. You were going to be frank and factual, and instead you let your big sister hold you, stroking your hair until your breathing returns to normal and your eyes stop watering.

“Now, do you want to tell me what’s the matter?”

Anya passes you a tissue and you slowly sit up. You take a few breaths. You think of Costia’s lips against your own as you tell Anya everything. You tell her how you’ve been so completely enamoured with Costia since the moment you saw her, how her voice makes your heart race and the feel of her skin brushing against yours makes the butterflies that live permanently in your stomach go mad. You tell Anya about your first kiss, and how you think maybe you like girls instead of boys and how even the mere thought of that terrifies you because, well, your parents may not be Orthodox, but they go to synagogue twice a year and are still conservative enough in every other aspect of their lives. 

But Anya, she listens. She lets you finish your rambling without interruption and eventually you fall into silence.

“Are you finished?” she asks, and you nod once, timidly.

“In that case, I’m very glad that you felt comfortable enough to tell me everything. I’m proud of you.” She lifts your chin with her hand and makes you look into her eyes as she speaks. “I love you no matter what, Lexa. Who  _ you _ love doesn’t change a damn thing about you.

“What about Mom and Dad?” you whisper, your eyes stinging with tears once again. “What if they hate me?”

“Well, you’ll tell them when you’re ready. And if they are anything less than supportive, then they are undeserving of knowing you. And I’ll still be here.” You fall back into her lap, and you feel as though an Atlassian weight has been lifted from your shoulders. Anya asks you about Costia, and you can’t keep the smile from your face as you tell her absolutely everything about the brown eyed girl. Anya teases that you sound like you’re in love. And you’d roll your eyes and tell her to shut up, but you know that she’s right.

You’re fourteen, and Costia is the first girl you’ve ever loved. And maybe it’s the romantic in you, but part of you hopes that she’s the last one you’ll ever love, too. The more you think about it, the more you reckon that forever by your best friend’s side would be pretty damn fantastic.

 

///

 

You’re sixteen when your world falls apart for the first time. You’re diligently taking notes in history when there’s a knock at the door. The class is surprised to see the principal standing behind it, and you’re even more surprised when she asks you to gather your things and follow her. Out in the hall, Principal Indra asks you if you need anything from your locker, and fear settles in your stomach as you shake your head no. She leads you down the hallways, her hand hovering over the small of your back, your mind racing through all of the possibilities that could have caused this bizarre situation.

The sight of Anya standing in Principal Indra’s office doesn’t comfort you; something’s most definitely wrong if Anya’s back from college and Indra silently excuses you from her own office to give you some privacy.

“What’s going on?” 

Anya sighs, running a hand over her face, and falling into one of the chairs in front of the desk.

“It’s Dad,” she says and your entire body goes numb. You can barely hear her over the din of white noise that consumes you, but you manage to pick out ‘car accident’, ‘head injury’ and ‘life support’.

You’re sixteen and you had been thinking about midterms and how cute your girlfriend is and now Anya leads you through the halls of a dangerously white hospital and to a room that every fibre of your body is telling you not to enter. You see a body and a lot of machinery, and your mother sitting bedside and holding a battered hand. Anya has to almost push you through the doorway and you feel your throat catch and your stomach drop as your eyes land on your father’s bruised, cut up face. Tubes run from his mouth to a machine you assume is breathing for him. His head is bandaged and besides from the injuries, you think at least he looks a little peaceful. Your mother and Anya excuse themselves from the room, and you know they’re giving you a chance to say goodbye.

You approach his bedside, and lay your hand over his. It feels rough and raw, and if he were conscious, he’d probably flinch at the touch. The only sounds in the room are the steady beeps of the heart monitor and the artificial pump of the breathing machine. Slowly, you move your hand to your dad’s chest, and put your other hand over your own. And for a few moments, you feel your hearts beat in time and you silently pray to a god you’re not sure exists that your father open his eyes and get better. But you know he won’t; the doctors declared him brain dead moments after he was brought in. You lean down and gingerly kiss his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper to him, “I’m sorry I love her and that I never told you. I’m sorry for hiding from you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

You’re sixteen when they take your dad off life support minutes after you say your last goodbyes. And then, when you see Costia waiting on your front porch, you feel your heart tighten because  _ he’s never going to know how much you love her _ . He’ll never know how much you love the girl who’s been waiting for you for hours because she knew you’d need someone to talk to.

You’re sixteen and your girlfriend stays up all night with you as you cry on her shoulder. And somewhere between the pain and the grief, you think that Costia’s embrace feels like home and that maybe one day she can help you put your world back together again.

 

You’re sixteen when you come out to your mother. Or rather, you’re sixteen when your mother walks in on you naked in bed, and Costia by your side. It’s not your first time - thank God - but it’s still horrifying and terrible. It happens in slow motion. You hear the click of the doorknob turning, and the hinges creaking slowly as it opens. It takes your mother a few moments to take in the scene in front of her, and you feel humiliated as her eyes rake over you, contempt and disappointment etched into her features. She slowly backs out of the room, but she makes sure to keep that damn door open. You lie in a daze for a few moments - Costia lying still in your arms - when your mother’s loud voice jolts through you.

“Kitchen. Now.” she yells from downstairs. You scramble to throw clothes on and before you can think anything through, you’re standing at the kitchen island, Costia beside you and your mother on the other side of the room, staring solemnly out of the kitchen window, hands perched on the counter top. 

“I think your parents are expecting you home, Costia,” she says curtly, “it’s getting rather late.” With your mother still not facing you, you press a chaste kiss to your girlfriend’s cheek and squeeze her hand tightly.

“I’ll be fine,” you manage to mouth, and then she’s gone with a slam of the front door, and you sit, suffocating slowly in your mother’s silence. You don’t know how long the quiet lasts; all you can think of is Costia and how scared and worried she’d looked, how rude your mother had been.

“How long?” she asks eventually. You sigh. There’s no point in lying, not now anyway.

“We started dating when we were fourteen,” you reply calmly. You barely flinch when her hands slam down against the counter top.

“Two years you’ve been doing this? Sinning in my home, making a fool out of me?”

“My relationship is not a sin, Mother. Nor were we trying to spite you.”

“This isn’t right; I raised you better than this, your father-” her voice catches momentarily. “What would he say? How could you do this to his memory?”

“My father,” you say, through gritted teeth, “would understand that I’m in love-” you ignore the way she flinches at the word. “-and would only care about the fact that Costia makes me happier than anyone else in the entire world.” 

She doesn’t respond, rather she just turns away from you again. You take it as a sign that the conversation is over, and you head back up to your room. You text Costia that you’re fine, and you call Anya and give her a rundown of the latest family drama. She tells you that she’s proud of you for handling it so well, and that she’ll make it down from college that weekend to act as a buffer. Despite the ache in your chest - the anger you feel towards your mother, the loss you always feel for your father - you also feel oddly light, finally free from the chains of secrecy that have been weighing you down for years.

 

You’re sixteen when you lie in bed and listen to your mom cry herself to sleep. It’s happened a handful of times, mostly right after Dad had died, but you know that this is the first time she’s shedding tears over you.

 

You’re sixteen and your mother hasn’t spoken to you in months. Costia hasn’t come back to your house since mom found out, and instead you hang out at her place. You’ve been out to her parents for a year and a half and you’ve always felt comfortable in their warm home. You think that maybe you can survive until college in the silent fortress your home has become. It’s not like you ever particularly close to your mother to begin with, but now she can’t even stand to be in the same room -- as soon as you enter, she leaves.

She can’t even look at you.

 

And then one day, Costia’s dropping you home from school when she gets a sudden nosebleed. Your mother's car isn't in the driveway so you know it's safe to go in. You lead her to the kitchen and sit her on one of the metal stools. You tell her to lean forward and to apply pressure on the bridge of her nose. You sit with her, and she plays with your fingers and you laugh together at that damn kitchen island. You feel your heart swell because it all feels so domestic, because Costia makes you feel more at home than your actual family does.

The nosebleed finally stops and you lean down to kiss the top of her head. Costia looks up at you with those warm brown eyes, and you kiss her again this time on the lips. You feel her smile and you whisper an ‘I love you’. 

And then you’re being yanked away from Costia, pulled backwards by the hood of your sweatshirt.

“How dare you??” your mother yells, and you move to stand between her and Costia. “Inside my house??” You see the anger in your mother’s eyes, and you open your mouth to fire back a retort, only it dies on your lips as her palm connects with your cheek. The slap stings angrily, and you see a hint of regret mixed in with her anger. Your face is rigid and your blood runs cold, and if you weren’t clenching your fists so tightly, your hands would be shaking in rage.

“Lexa,” your mother begins, but you hold up a hand stopping her. Instead, you take Costia’s hand, and you lead her to her car and you promise that you’ll see each other tomorrow. She’s pale and there’s a worried crease between her brows and she holds your face in both hands.

“I love you,” she says.

“Back atcha,” you reply, and you watch as she drives away. You call Anya from the front lawn, and she’s home thirty minutes later. Sorry, she says, there was traffic. But you know that there’s no possible way for her to have been there sooner. Neither of you talk to your mother that night, and she doesn’t try talking to you, either. 

Anya moves out of her apartment on campus and back home. She makes the half-hour commute to college every day. You really, really love your sister.

 

You’re one day shy of seventeen when you move out of your mother’s house. It’s the day after Anya’s graduation, and the two of you move into a small apartment ten minutes from your high school. It’s warm and calm and Costia’s allowed over any time she wants.

 

///

  
  


You’re eighteen when Anya drives you all the way to Yale, with most of your belongings on the back seat of her car.

“Yale’s a lot farther than Maryland was,” she grumbles, “I wasn’t even an hour away.”

“Yeah, well, at least I’m not at Stanford,” you reply. You will yourself not to cry, because you’ve been doing that for weeks now.

You put Costia on a plane to California the week before. She’s going to Stanford. She’s on the other side of the country, in a different damn timezone. You don’t remember how life was without Costia beside you, and you’re scared to find out. You don’t know how you’re going to survive for four years.

“It’ll be okay,” Anya tells you, as if she can read your thoughts. “You two are meant to be. You’ll be fine.” You nod and will yourself to believe her, and once you get to college you and Costia talk every night and you text all throughout the day. And at Christmas, you both go home to DC and spend winter break in each other’s arms, and she gives you Hanukkah presents and you get her Christmas gifts and you kiss under the mistletoe as Anya lights the Menorah.

 

But winter break is over soon enough and college gets even more intense when you go back after and nightly calls become weekly and the all-day texting becomes sporadic and spread out. And when Costia calls you in tears because she’d hooked up with another girl, you’re not that shocked and it’s not pain or sadness you feel as much as it’s numbness and a sense of ‘I knew this would happen’. You let Costia cry and apologize to you on the phone for half an hour, trying to sooth her, telling her that you’re not mad, that you forgive her.

 

“Maybe… maybe we should take a break,” you say because you know that she’s too scared to say it herself. “It’s hard to be fully in the college experience when I feel like half of me is across the country.”

“Just for a while,” she agrees. “I love you, Lexa.”

“I love you, too, Costia.”

 

You’re eighteen and you don’t leave your dorm room for three days because your heart feels like it’ll implode if you make any sudden movements. You know that breaking up with Costia was a weird choice. You love her, she loves you, but you want her to be happy. And if that means letting her go for a while, well then that’s what you’ll have to do. Because Anya’s right, the two of you are made for each other.

You find comfort in cheap vodka and pretty girls whose names you never remember the next morning. They all feel strange and foreign under your body, and you know it’s because your hands know Costia’s body better than anything else. And then you stop feeling anything altogether; the bodies come one after another and after a while they all feel the same -- unfulfilling. A reputation forms and for the first time in your life, you’re one of those names that everybody knows. You’re mysterious and hot and  _ goddamn  _ do you know how to please a woman. You’re invited to every party, you’re offered drink after drink, and your meaningless life becomes oddly satisfying, in a hollow, shallow sort of way.

 

You’re eighteen and you’re home for the summer and you spent it locked up in your apartment. Anya works most days and you refuse to wander around town because you might bump into your mother, or god forbid, Costia. And then you’re at the Smithsonian one day, because  _ why the fuck not _ , when you see Costia holding hands with another girl, laughing into her shoulder and smiling as though she’s the happiest person alive. And for the first time since you broke up with her, you start to cry. Right there, in the middle of the damn museum. A sob bubbles up and tears spring to your eyes and you run off to the nearest bathroom before she spots you. 

You lean against the bathroom sink, your breaths shallow and fast. You feel like you can’t breathe, like you’re throat is closing up and your chest is going to explode. From nowhere, a melodic voice says ‘hello?’ and a  warm hand settles on your shoulder. You whirl around and come face to face with the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen, eye so bright it’s as though they were cut from the morning skies and their blonde-haired owner is telling you to try and breathe, that they think you might be having a panic attack. She puts down the toilet seat in an empty stall and makes you sit and counts to ten while your breathing eases slowly but surely. When you get back to normal - still a little teary eyed and shaky - you thank the stranger, and she says ‘no problem’ and makes sure you have a way home before she leaves you in the bathroom.

 

You’re eighteen and you go home and cry a bit more, this time on Anya’s shoulder, and when you drift off to sleep that night, it’s with memories of Costia lying in bed beside you and of blue eyes that remind you of space and time and infinity.

 

///

 

You’re twenty when your mother dies.

 

The phone rings in the middle of the night and you apologise to the girl whose name you can’t remember for waking her up. You haven’t spoken to your mother in almost four years, since you left her house and moved in with Anya. You know your sister spoke to her from time to time, but she never tried to reach out to you, and you had no desire to mend the broken bridge that lay between you.

 

And then you get a phone call and the usually stoic Anya is crying and you don’t know what to feel, but your heart lies somewhere between sadness and indifference and the part of you that doesn’t really care scares the rest. But still, you get into your car at two in the morning and you drive the four or so hours to get back home and to be with Anya and farewell a mother you feel as though you don’t really know.

 

You’re twenty and the funeral is a small affair, mostly distant relatives and some of your mother’s friends. You stand by Anya’s side the whole time, thanking the guests for their sympathy and well wishes, trying your best to seem like a child who’s sad about their parent’s death. You shake lots of hands, you accept a lot of hugs, you thank the Rabbi who performed the funeral for making your mother seem like a saint. And then at the end of the day, you and Anya are left in that huge house by yourselves, the kitchen countertops filled with food that’ll last you weeks, maybe even months. Anya nurses a beer on the couch and flips through family photos, and you’re digging into Mrs. Goldberg’s apple pie when the doorbell rings.

“Not it,” Anya calls out, and you take the whole pie with you to answer the door, because goddamn it the pie is delicious and you don’t care who sees you demolish it. You think it might be the Rabbi’s wife who forgot her scarf, or maybe even one of your mother’s cousins just checking in.

 

But you really didn’t think it would be bright brown eyes and a mop of curly brown hair that stood behind the door. 

“Costia. Hi.” You haven’t seen her since that day in the museum, and even then it was from afar. But now she’s on your front doorstep, and she’s still so beautiful that you just don’t know what else to say. Luckily, she speaks for you.

 

“May I come in?”

 

You have the strangest feeling of deja vu as you lead her up the stairs to your childhood bedroom, blushing as Anya calls out “keep the door open!” It feels weird having her sit on your bed, with you in the desk chair and that damn apple pie on your old desk.

 

“My mom called and told me about yours,” she says, “and I… I had to make sure you’re okay.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

 

You stay in silence because honestly, you just don’t know what to say to Costia. How have you changed so much since you last saw her, and yet you feel exactly the same now as you did then?

 

“I always liked your room,” she says with a wistful sigh, and you know she’s thinking about the lifetime you spent together in this house, back when it was still your home. “I’m really sorry about your mom, Lexa.”

“Me, too.”

“Had you ever reconciled?”

“No.”

“That’s… a shame.”

“I guess.”

 

She pulls the chair around to face the bed, forcing you to look at her, but you avoid her eyes because they always made you weak.

 

“So what, you’re gonna basically ignore me now?” 

“You have to be nice to me, my mom just died,” you say, and she huffs a small laugh. And then you laugh with her. And out of nowhere, your laughter turns into sadness and you start to cry, big ugly sobs that wrack your body. Costia pulls you onto the bed and you lie in her embrace. Suddenly, it’s as though you’re sixteen again and your girlfriend is comforting you after the death of your father. 

 

But, you’re twenty years old and you lie with your ex-girlfriend and she plays with your hair, and tells you you’ll be okay eventually. You wish you could show your mother this, this love that you have. You want to tell her that yours is a love stronger than Antony and Cleopatra’s, bigger than David and Jonathan’s. Because you lie in Costia’s arms and let her embrace transform you. And you listen to her heart beat steadily and slowly but surely yours falls into the same rhythm. Your hearts beat together again and you think maybe they never stopped to begin with. Maybe they were just waiting for you to be close once again.

 

You’re twenty years old and your (not-ex-anymore) girlfriend helps you and Anya pack up your childhood home. The irony’s not lost on any of you, that your mother has brought you and Costia back together with her death. You laugh all together and you cry just as much, and you sift through room after room of memories and life. You watch Anya chase Costia around the house with an terrifying half-decrepit teddy bear and you laugh when Costia makes fun of Anya’s old yearbooks. And you let Costia hold your hand when you go through your parents’ bedroom and you and Anya split up all the jewelry and valuables and keepsakes. 

 

You’re twenty years old and Anya gives you your grandmother’s wedding ring when Costia’s not looking, and you know it’ll look perfect on Costia’s finger when the time is right. Because if you have a say in the matter, the first girl you ever loved will be the only girl you’ll ever love for the rest of your life.

 

///

 

You’re twenty-two and you stand in an empty apartment, Costia’s hand in yours. The room is bright and big and though empty of possessions, it’s filled with potential and a whole lot of love. 

 

You’re fresh out of college and no idea what type of law you want to practice, but for now you have a small position at a big corporate firm and enough money to pay your half of the rent. Costia has a job in social work and your new apartment is the perfect distance from both of your offices and close to a whole bunch of small cafes you’re excited to try out. And you’re not too far from Anya either, only about a twenty minute walk. You’ve got everything you could possibly need and you’re giddy with excitement about the prospect of your future.

 

You stand in an empty apartment, but you know exactly where the TV’s going to go, where the light will hit the couch of a morning. You see Costia cooking breakfast and you can almost smell the coffee brewing. You see late nights by Costia’s side, and early mornings where you make sure to kiss her before you rush out the door. You see a life you’re desperate to begin, one that is right in front of you for the taking.

 

And then you start work and  _ holy shit what the fuck _ . You knew that working for a big firm would mean long hours, but it’s ridiculous. You feel as though you see more of your desk than your girlfriend, spend more time in meetings than in your apartment. Because when you’re not at work, you’re fucking exhausted and mostly unresponsive.

 

It takes its toll. You and Costia fight. You both bring the stress home with you and you both yell a lot and threaten to leave but neither of you ever do. And you grow and learn and work together and every day you spend with Costia is another reminder of just how much you love her. Every day together is a step towards finally placing a ring on her finger and entwining yourselves into a single entity.

  
  


///

 

You’re twenty-four, and you’ve got it all planned out. The restaurant reservation has been booked for weeks, and the ring has been burning a hole in your back pocket ever since Anya gave it to you. It was your mother’s, and her mother’s before her. A simple diamond on a silver band - understated and beautiful, destined to be on Costia’s finger.

 

You pick her up from work in your second hand car, and you can barely even look at her. You think that if she can look into your eyes, she’ll see that you’re hiding something, she’ll figure it all out.

 

“You okay, babe?” she asks, resting a hand on your thigh as you drive. You swallow back your nerves, you try to keep your voice steady but you’re just so fucking nervous. Goddamn, you’re sitting beside a goddess, a couple of hours away from asking her to marry you and you don’t think you’ve ever been more terrified in your entire life. 

“Just wary of the icy roads,” you tell her, praying that you’re convincing enough.

 

You pull up outside of the restaurant, and give the valet guy your keys. Your breathing is shaky and you will yourself to put one foot in front of the other.

And for some god forsaken reason, your body refuses to comply tonight. 

The sidewalk is icy from the afternoon’s snow and rain, and as you step up from the curb your feet go from under you and suddenly you’re on your back with pain radiating through your left arm and your head feeling like it’s just exploded.

 

“Ouch,” you murmur, and a blurry version of Costia appears over you.

“Lexa, are you okay??” she asks, and you blink a couple of times, trying to get her in focus. You try and say that you’re okay, that you just want to go and have dinner, but all you can say is ‘ouch’.

 

You’re twenty-four and your brilliant plan didn’t go right at all. Instead of a fancy restaurant, Costia holds your hand as a doctor sets your broken wrist. Instead of a romantic dinner, Costia’s dinner was a packet of chips from a vending machine. Instead of a hotel room, your girlfriend tucks you into bed, with instructions from the doctor to keep a close eye on you over the next few days. Instead of a ‘yes!’, you get a concussion and a big cast on your arm. You dutifully swallow the painkillers Costia brings you, and you bask in your love-filled bedroom as she lies by your side, playing with your uninjured hand.

 

“Tonight didn’t go as planned,” you sigh, and she kisses you on the cheek.

“We can always get dinner another night,” Costia replies.

“Tonight… tonight was going to be special.”

“Oh, I was gonna get lucky?” 

 

You laugh softly because you know just the opposite is true. You’re the lucky one. You’re the one with a girlfriend made from pure goodness and love, you’re the one who gets to wake up every morning to a messy head of hair and bright brown eyes that hold an unknowable universe. You’re the one who gets to love Costia, and even more, be loved by her. You laugh softly because you know that a lifetime with this girl is a lifetime you would live over and over if you were given the choice.

 

She deserves the most perfect proposal of all time. She deserves flowers and loud declarations of love, and everything the romantic in you has to offer. But for a moment, you’re selfish. You can’t live life for another moment without letting her know that you want to spend eternity with her. So you get out of bed, despite Costia’s protests, and you get your trench coat from the kitchen. Walking back into the bedroom, you rustle through the pockets and find that small velvet box. And without a word you climb back into bed and press your lips against Costia’s. 

 

“I wish I could tell you how much I love you,” you tell her, “but I’m afraid that if I try to define it, I’ll limit it. I wish I could tell you how much I love you, but a love like ours simply isn’t made for words. And so, if you let me, I’ll show you every day for the rest of our lives just how much you mean to me, and just how much I love you.” You look into Costia’s eyes, carefully, deliberately. You watch the thoughts and emotions that flash so briefly, and you slowly open the box. Costia lets you slide the ring onto her finger, and you wipe away her tears with the pad of your thumb. She kisses you in a way she hasn’t done before. She kisses you with a happiness you know you’ll spend the rest of your life feeling. And when she pulls away, she tells you that she loves you, too. 

  
  


You’re twenty-four and you didn’t really realise that planning a wedding would be this difficult. Between work and home, you’re always on the phone to somebody, organising depositions or confirming flower arrangements. Your Rabbi suggests another one who would be willing to perform your wedding, and Costia confirms that her minister will be there on the special day, too. You book a venue and you send out invitations and you’re ready to walk down the aisle and marry the girl of your dreams.

 

And then Anya’s in hospital. It’s a few weeks out from the wedding and she has a seizure at work and the doctor’s don’t know how it happens. And then it just keeps happening, and they can’t make it stop. The scans don’t pick up anything, and the medications don’t seem to work, either. Costia’s the one who suggests that you postpone and you’re glad she does. Anya feels guilty and wants you to go ahead with it, but you could never get married without your big sister by your side, fit and healthy. You cancel the flowers and the venue and the celebrants. You push everything off until Anya’s better.

 

///

 

You’re twenty-six, and the whole wedding thing has fallen on the backburner. The doctors never figured out the cause of Anya’s seizures, and though they happen more infrequently, they’re still there, looming and ready to happen at any possible moment. 

 

You know it’ll happen one day, and you’re okay with that because you have all the time in the world with the woman you love. And the rings that lie on both your hands are proof enough that she holds your heart, and you hers. 

 

So life goes on, and you get a couple of promotions and Costia changes lives in the foster system and you love each other more and more. You celebrate when you win cases, and you mourn when Costia can’t help every family she comes across. Your lives are filled with happiness and love and you itch for the day you and her have children of your own to love and raise together.

  
  


She’s going to a conference in New York City and she insists on taking the train instead of your car. She’s going for a week, and you’ve already made plans to surprise her at the end of it, a nice weekend away in New York exactly what you both need right now. You plan on asking her to marry you again, and this time follow through with it. You wonder if maybe you can take a week’s vacation and elope in New York. You plan on asking her to start a family with you, bringing perfect children into your world. 

 

You plan a lot of things.

 

You never thought they’d stay just plans.

 

The first time ‘No Caller ID’ flashes on your phone, you ignore it. The second time, you’re in the shower and you miss it. The third time, you answer it, anxiety settling in every part of your being. They tell you she’s injured badly, a train crash with a lot of casualties. They ask you how fast you can get there and you tell them four hours, maybe a little more if there’s traffic. 

 

They just tell you to get there as fast as you can.

 

You ask them to tell Costia to hold on. You’re on your way. You’ll be there soon.

 

You get in your car and you drive, you drive numbly, spurred on only by the thought of Costia lying in a hospital bed without you beside her. You speed down highways and swear at any traffic you get into. You don’t stop, not even once. And on the long stretches of road that don’t seem to end, you turn to a god you were never sure exists, and you ask him or her or it to save the love of your life. For the first time in a very, very long time, you pray and you ask that Costia be okay. Because for the first time, you have a sinking feeling that maybe your plans for the future are futile. Maybe it’ll all end tonight.

  
  


You’re twenty-six years old when your world falls apart for the second time. Haunting blue eyes tell you that she didn’t suffer all that much, and in another world you’d wonder why the doctor sitting there seemed so familiar. But you can’t think anything. You can’t feel anything but pain.

 

Your flesh is raw. Your insides burn. Your lungs fill with fire every time you take a breath. You never imagined you could hurt this badly. You never thought you’d feel a pain quite like this, so overwhelming and full. The world seems duller now that Costia isn’t in it, more ugly and firm. Your world is crumbling around you, but this time Costia isn’t there to rebuild it for you. She’s not there to hold your hand, and stroke your hair and make you feel better. No, you’re all alone and you can’t breathe and then the doctor breaks you just a little bit more.

_ “Lexa, Costia… she wanted you to know… she wanted me to tell you that if love were enough… if love were enough, she’d still be here with you.” _

 

Your world is dark and empty. Your heart lies in the bottom of your being, shattered into unfixable pieces. You don’t know how to survive when the one thing that tethers you to the earth is gone and never coming back. You don’t know how to survive without Costia. And you don’t really want to.

 

///

 

You’re twenty-eight, and you’ve found your true calling. 

 

After you lost Costia, you quit your job. You lived off your savings for a while, and then when you were ready, you started working for a social work agency, helping families and children like Costia once did. You may be living a life without love, but you're damn sure to live one with passion.

 

You move out of your apartment into something smaller and sterile, with nothing on the walls to remind you of the heartache that lives permanently in your chest. Anya is the only person you see outside of work. She’s been better recently, with not seizures and a clean bill of health. You know she feels guilty - she’s the reason you can never call Costia your wife - but you have no ill feelings towards Anya. She’s your sister and she loves you and she’s the only family you have left in your life. 

 

She tries to get you to go out and date, but you know it’s pointless. You’ve already had your love story, your big romance. You met your soulmate and you loved her for fourteen years, and that was all you were destined to have. You wish it got easier, but it doesn’t. It gets easier to pretend, to pretend that everything’s okay and you’re not constantly in pain. It’s easier to pretend that you don’t get choked up when you see a girl with wild curly hair, or dimples or big brown eyes. It’s easy to pretend that you don’t think of what your children would have looked like. It’s easy to pretend that you don’t think about ending your own life because what is it without Costia?

 

Life becomes the hardest thing you’ve ever done. You thought you knew pain when your father died. You thought you knew pain when the blue-eyed doctor told you that Costia was dead. But nothing could prepare you for the cruel reality that is living your life without Costia in it. The world moves around you in slow motion, and still you struggle to keep up. Just when you think maybe your head’s finally above the water, you get pulled back in. You remember that there’s a finite amount of photographs of Costia in this world. You’ll never take another photo of her. You’ll never hear her say ‘I love you’, you’ll never feel her in your arms. You’ll never look into her eyes or make her laugh or wake up to her sleeping form. You’ll get through life like most do, unfulfilled and filled with pain. You’ll survive until the end, where you hope you’ll be met by Costia in another life. And you’re okay with that.

 

///

 

You’re thirty years old and Anya’s sick again. The seizures intensify and the doctors in D.C. don’t know what’s wrong. They send her to New York to visit the top neurosurgeon in the United States, and you go with her because you’ll be damned if another family member enters a New York hospital without you there. You stay in an old friend’s apartment because Lincoln spends most of his time at his girlfriend’s place, anyway. 

 

You see her at the bar, and you recognise her straight away. The blonde hair pulled back and the blue eyes that still seem familiar though you don’t know why. You don’t know why you approach her, but you do. You introduce yourself and she remembers who you are right off the bat. There’s something about her, a sadness in her eyes that draws you in, and it soon becomes clear that you have one very big thing in common: Costia still haunts you both.

 

You don’t know what compels you to take Clarke home with you, but you’re glad you do. You don’t remember ever feeling like this before, an energy between the two of you that you simply can’t ignore. You think that maybe the last time you felt this way about someone new was when you were twelve years old and a brown-haired goddess sat at the back of the classroom. 

 

You’re oddly happy when Clarke is assigned Anya’s case. You trust her implicitly (though you don’t know why) and you’re glad you get to see her more. There are some things in your life that you just can’t explain, and you think Clarke may be one of them. You don’t know why you’re drawn to her, but you think that maybe you and her are made of the same stardust, that maybe you knew her in a past life, or maybe you’re to know her in a future one. 

 

You get closer to her, stolen conversations when Anya sleeps and wistful looks as you pass her in the hallway. And then she agrees to lunch and the more she talks the more you yearn to hear her voice. And then Anya’s in surgery and you don’t know if she’ll make it or not. Clarke’s friends hover and offer comfort, and you realise you’ve forgotten what it feels like to have friends who aren’t Anya. It feels nice, it feels comfortable. It’s nice to know that people care.

 

You’re thirty years old and Clarke kisses you next to Anya’s hospital bed. It’s electrifying and glorious and you feel as though you’re floating away from the ground. And when you leave with Anya a few days later, you stay in the city and you mention to your sister that maybe it’s time for a move. Maybe it’s time to live somewhere new and catch up with old friends and date cute blondes.

 

///

 

You’re thirty-one years old and you feel as though you’ve lived a thousand lifetimes. You’ve lost people and suffered pain and moved from the city you grew up in to New York. Anya follows soon after, and you realise you’ve started your life anew and it feels right. You date Clarke and you fall in love with her and kiss her and hold her. And slowly, you start making plans again. 

 

You marry Clarke in the spring and it’s a small ceremony, with only the handful of people you share your life with. You vow to love Clarke with everything you are and you feel so very, very lucky. A lot of people don’t find the love of their lives, and yet somehow you were blessed with two. You’ve felt that imperceptible pull twice in your life, that single moment when you see your soulmate for the first time - once when you were twelve, and once much later on, in a crowded bar. You used to think that Costia was it, that she was your one and only. But now you know that a person can have more than one soulmate, and that your soul was made to fit Clarke’s perfectly, just as it had with Costia’s. You love Clarke with your entire being. You think that descends from the stars, because she shines brighter than anybody you’ve ever met before. You know that she is made from greatness and kindness and good. And you revel in the fact that you are hers, and she is yours.

 

You’re thirty-two years old and you hold your newborn daughter in your arms. She’s small and perfect, a little warrior with a halo of blonde hair, just like her mom. When she grows, you’ll tell her what love is, and how you first found it at the back of a classroom. When she grows, you’ll tell her about heartache and the many times you’ve felt it. When she grows, you’ll teach her about hope and how it flows through humanity, a universal lifeline. You’ll tell her of your parents and Costia and how you met Clarke. You’ll teach her how to walk and how to read and how to throw a mean right hook. But most importantly, you’ll teach her how to love as fiercely as she possibly can, and that you’ll always be by her side.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I'd love to hear from you over at tumblr-- thepancakedrawer-- and instagram-- californiarollerderby


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